


Father Knows Best

by Just_Another_Gay_Kid



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Foreplay, Hanukkah, Holiday Fic Exchange, Holidays, Incest, M/M, Martin Whitly Being an Asshole, Parent/Child Incest, Rough Kissing, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28207116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Another_Gay_Kid/pseuds/Just_Another_Gay_Kid
Summary: Malcolm visits Martin before the holidays to help decorate his cell and they end up having some alone time together.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 3
Kudos: 33
Collections: Prodigal Son Holidays Fic Exchange





	Father Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akingnotaprincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/akingnotaprincess/gifts).



> Hello friend!! Happy holidays to you all, and I really hope you like this one. Much love!

It was the day before Hanukkah and Malcolm went to visit his father at Claremont. 

"You should be more careful with those." he entered the cell and went for the chair.

"My boy!" Martin put down the electric candles. " Ah, you mean these? Don’t worry, they’re good quality. Won’t break."

Malcolm didn’t answer.

"Are you not going to ask me how I got hold of them?"

"I’m assuming it’s just another one of your privileges." Malcolm shrugged.

"That’s where you’re mistaken. You see, my daughter happens to be a very good journalist, and she recently found out that Claremont’s no candle policy is really unfair and discriminatory of its Jewish patients at this time of year, and they didn’t want to look worse than they already do after that whole… Interview incident. Since they allow Christmas decoration for some of their patients, it was fairly easy to convince them that electric wax candles won’t do any harm."

"That still doesn’t explain why you have them." 

"Ah, well, let’s say they like me very much around here." Martin chuckled and continued to unbox the candles.

"I am sure they do, Doctor Whitly."

Malcolm sat on the chair and stared at the walls, counting the brick marks and imperfections there. Martin had a big toy menorah on his table, with lots of wrapping paper around it and the candles. There were also countless blue and silver Christmas balls, in different shades and sizes scattered around, with general winter-themed decoration, actual Christmas decoration (and a tiny tree), paper dreidels, and cards with latke puns on them.

"My boy, can you give me a hand here?" Martin called, holding a string of blue lights. "Can you hang these on the bookshelf over there? Yes, right at the corner. Thank you!"

He pressed the button and the string started blinking in different rhythms.

"Oh, that’s beautiful." he clicked his tongue. "This is great, isn’t it? Do you remember the last time we decorated for Hanukkah together, my boy? That was a good year."

"Yeah, it was. And after that, all have been shit. " Malcolm smiled and sat down again.

His father didn’t answer, but his frustration was palpable. Malcolm continued sitting down, and Martin continued decorating. The situation was almost laughable for him: his father was angrily unwrapping holiday decoration like a child, while he sat on the chair ignoring that he was the source of the man’s sour humor. If he weren’t also with a sour taste on his mouth he would’ve at least chuckled, but this affected him too.

"You shouldn’t suffer through the holidays like that." said Martin "This is a time for celebration." Another candle unwrapped. "No matter what you celebrate."

Malcolm didn’t answer but looked at the cell slowly becoming more welcoming with shiny lights and colors. His father kept pulling things out of boxes to hang on the walls.

“It’s my lunchtime”, Mr. David announced. Malcolm had forgotten he was there. Doctor Whitly didn’t. “I need to cuff you so I can go, Martin.”

Malcolm looked at them from the chair.

“Please, Mr. David, I am decorating with my son. I’m sure that’s not necessary.”

“You know I can’t do that, Martin, it’s my job to make sure you don’t cause any harm.” said the guard.

“I am decorating with my son, Mr. David.” Martin’s tone was firmer now. “I can’t decorate handcuffed, and he can’t cross the line to do it for me. You can either stay here and watch us and miss lunchtime, or you can go knowing full well that nothing will happen.”

Mr. David didn’t answer. He showed visible signs of indecisiveness and looked at Malcolm. Malcolm looked at his father: the look on his face demanded obedience and submission. Malcolm sighed and mentally rolled his eyes.

“It’s okay, Mr. David.” Malcolm’s hand shook. “We’re just decorating. It’s fine.” he smiled.

The guard was still a little insecure but left the cell anyway. As soon as the door closed, Malcolm took a deep breath and clenched his jaw.

“Do you want help with the tree?” he asked in a calm voice. “We can put it in front of the bed. I think it would be nice there.”

“You think so?” Martin looked at the tree. “I’m not so sure. How about next to the bed? On the main wall?”

“I guess that works too.” Malcolm shrugged.

It was conflicting, being alone in a room with Martin. In a way, it felt comfortable, but it was also unnerving. He could say anything, do anything. That freedom could be scary, but Malcolm liked the rare opportunity.

“Which do you think will fit best?” Martin showed him two different sets of lights.  
“The left one.” he walked over to the desk and took it. “See? It goes well with the mirror balls.”

Martin looked down and smiled at his son. It was becoming a habit for Malcolm to cross the red line when they were alone, but it still struck Martin with joy every time (especially because he could tell Malcolm was nervous every time). He took his son’s hand.

“You always had an eye for this sort of thing.”

“Thank you, Dr. Whitly.”

“Don’t call me that”, Martin smiled.

“Right, sorry. Dad.” Malcolm looked down at their hands.

“It’s okay. You will get used to it, won’t you? It’s just a matter of time.” Martin took a step closer. 

Malcolm took a deep breath. 

“I’m sure I will”.

“You do know I love you, right?” Martin put a hand on Malcolm’s arm.

The young man shook and felt his legs tremble. Did he know that? Did Martin love him? There were no signs of lying, but it didn’t matter - he could barely tell the difference anymore. He wanted that to be true; it would make sense, anyway. If they loved each other, this chase would make some sense, at least.

“I love you, too.” the words slipped out before he could stop them.

The hand on his arm squeezed the flesh there and found it’s way up to his neck and the base of his skull. The hand fit perfectly there: just the right size to cover all the right spots, just heavy enough to mark its presence there. Malcolm couldn’t help but relax and let down his guard. The other hand guided his to Martin’s chest, resting just above his heart. He could feel the soft fabric, the warmth of the flesh, and the heart beating underneath it all. He kept his hand there as Martin’s moved away and found his hip.

This sort of physical touch wasn’t too unusual for them at this point. The many obligatory - and sometimes willing - visitations brought them closer in more ways than one. It was easier to open up to Martin, and it was easier to be near him, to even feel his touch.

Martin didn’t have a tight grip - he just rested his hand there, almost asking for approval. But when Malcolm closed his eyes, he sunk his fingers a little. 

“We can’t be this close. What if Mr. David comes back?” Malcolm asked.

“He won’t be back for another hour, you know that.” Martin pulled him a little closer.

“What are you doing?”

Martin didn’t answer. Malcolm knew what he was doing and he was nervous about it. He had seen it coming for a while now, but didn’t know how to react.

“Someone else could see us. Through the glass.” he still had his eyes closed.

“No one will see us. No one checks on me at this hour.” The hand teased Malcolm’s neck.

“Dad, I don’t think we should do this.”

“Stop resisting, my boy.” Martin interrupted him. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want this. Say the words and I stop”

Malcolm opened his eyes but didn’t say anything. He and Martin were so close now that their waists were almost touching. He wanted to argue and say it was too risky, that they shouldn’t do this, that he didn’t want it. He couldn’t say it because it wasn’t true. Instead, he felt Martin’s beating heart and looked in his eyes. The slight pull on his hip was enough to drive him to the edge. Malcolm pressed his body against Martin’s, giving in to kiss him on the lips and wrapping his arms around his waist and neck. He didn’t want to give himself room for hesitation, so he fully gave in.

The kiss was urgent. Martin could tell Malcolm was eager to have him but was still holding back. He forced Malcolm to slow down and enjoy the nuances present. He paid more careful attention to where his hands were and how he could stimulate each area. He knew that firm hands circling around the waist would get Malcolm’s attention and that fingers brushing up his neck would cause a shiver. Combined with the heat of his body and a stimulating kiss, that was enough to make Malcolm ease up and open himself to Martin. After that, a sudden pull on his hair was enough to make him exhale sharply and melt under Martin’s touch.

“Oh, how it’s fun to break you apart…” Martin pulled his head back a little more, getting a shy whimper in return.

Malcolm didn’t say anything. It was almost embarrassing how easy it was for Martin to take control like that. The voice of reason in his mind kept insisting it was wrong and risky, but it faded away almost completely when his father’s beard touched his neck. The feeling was intoxicating and it all came way too naturally, given the situation.

Martin took his time smelling the faded cologne on the skin. When he exhaled the warm breath felt smooth, creating good contrast with the scratchy beard. Soon his lips touched the skin, followed by his tongue, and suction. It was so easy to leave a mark there - a little red spot that would last for days - as a souvenir. 

“I don't t-think we s-should…” Malcolm tried to say something.

“Stop that!” Martin interrupted him. “I told you, it is fine. Don’t you want this?”

Malcolm stiffened up at how harsh his father sounded. He knew Martin didn't mean to, but his gut reaction was to stay still and don't talk back. He closed a fist to stop his hand from shaking.

“Sorry, Dad,” he whispered. “I want it. I really do, I’m just… You’re my father.” he pulled Martin closer.

“It's okay. Those feelings are conflicting, but we can sort through them together, can’t we? I can help you understand.”

Deep down Malcolm felt his father was right. There were so many things he wishes he'd understand better, so many things he didn't know, not only regarding… Whatever was happening now. His insecurities were always exposed when he was with Martin, and his father was always there to comfort him.

“You understand it?”

“Of course I do.” Martin smiled. “We are going through the same thing, aren’t we? Only I can understand you.”

“You sure about that? I think I can find some sort of online support group for profilers with incestual relationships with their serial killer fathers.” Malcolm smiled.

“It wouldn’t surprise me all that much if you did find something like that.” Martin chuckled.

They enjoyed the lingering humor for a bit, but soon the tension grew. Malcolm felt the little shake on his hand growing again. He knew what was happening: his father was manipulating him into something he couldn’t walk away from that easily. With each visit, he became more tangled on Martin’s web, and it got darker there every time. But he wanted all this, for so many reasons. The worst thing about it is that he knew his desire was just a consequence of all the subtle manipulation and gaslighting there were always there, disguised by jokes or advice. But he couldn’t escape that feeling and he couldn’t fight it…  
His father’s voice echoed the quote on his head: ‘The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it. Resist it, and your soul grows sick with longing for the things it has forbidden to itself, with desire for what its monstrous laws have made monstrous and unlawful.’

“Can you kiss me again?” Malcolm asked.

“Do you want me to?” Martin held his body.

“Yes. Please.”

Martin obliged, guiding his lips to Malcolm’s and kissing him slowly again. Their hands worked around their bodies, finding new places to feel. As their bodies pressed more firmly together, Malcolm felt an erection growing in his pants. Martin felt it too.

“Oh, Malcolm…” the big hand touched his inner thigh. “That’s my boy!”

Malcolm gasped when Martin touched him through his pants. While the hand grabbed him there, he could feel the metaphorical hand of his father gripping tighter around him. Soon it would get hard to breathe.

“Please, I can’t-”

“I think we’d better finish decorating, son” Martin moved his hand away. “There’s still a lot to do and you can’t visit all day long.”

Malcolm sighed and buried his head on Martin’s neck. He placed a kiss there and looked for his mouth again. He knew they should stop, but it was so hard to do what he wanted to.

“But what if we don’t do that?” he asked.

“You know that’s not an option.” Martin’s tone made that clear.

With a sigh, they let go of one another. Malcolm fixed his hair and suit, but his desire was still visible on his eyes and his crotch. Martin smiled at him.

“Now, can you put the tree in place, my boy? 

Malcolm nodded and went to take it.

“Thank you, my boy. It’ll look perfect there.”

They continued to hang things in place, and the more they did the better it looked. Malcolm felt almost at ease there, doing all these little favors for Martin.

“I think you should visit me tomorrow night, my boy. It will be good for us to light the candles together.”

“Yes, dad.” Malcolm didn’t question it, and he didn’t try to make an excuse to not go.

His father was probably right: his hand was perfectly still now, despite his accelerated heart rate. Maybe spending time together was good for him, even if it meant that Martin’s hand would have room to sink its nails. Well, at least he had something to look forward to during the holidays. After all, what harm could Martin do that he hadn’t done already? Maybe he could trust him a little.


End file.
